My arms around his neck (my fingers laced the crown)
by ibuzoo
Summary: He wants to cut her, wants to hurt her, make her bleed for God's sake but she merely whips her hand and the mirror sets itself back to one piece. Red eyes watch in horror as the monster stares right back at him again, bald, ashen, sick, cruel and he snaps, spits at her, "Why?" Red sunlight catches in her brown locks and she smiles, dark and secret, "You're born for this, Tom."


**My arms around his neck (My fingers laced the crown)**

**Prompt:** Success

**Rating: **M

**Warnings: **Alternate Universe, Hermione is Death

**Word count:** 1365

**Summary: **He wants to cut her, wants to hurt her, make her bleed for God's sake but she merely whips her hand and the mirror sets itself back to one piece. Red eyes watch in horror as the monster stares right back at him again, bald, ashen, sick, cruel and he snaps, spits at her, "Why?"

Red sunlight catches in her brown locks, makes her fiery mane look like a forest fire, wild and untamed and she smiles, dark and secret, "You're born for this, Tom."

**A/N:** So, this is the second part of '**I was an angel (living in the garden of evil)**' but you don't need to know about the first part to understand what happens in this one - it can totally be read as a standalone. The events of this part start right after the first part ended, just so you know where it ties on. It feels like I improved a lot since the first part (which was also my first prompt) and I suddenly feel the need to revise the older works again. Well who knows, when time allows it of course.

**Disclaimer: **This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by J.K. Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros. Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

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The story is simple.

There was a boy who had it all and Death visited him, told him that he was born for more while her lips promised immortality and he imagined he could defy her, could beat Death at her own game. In the end he died, a flash of green splitting him to the bones, then darkness.

The story is simple, and it starts like this.

**i.**

He's covered in dirt with soil under his nail beds, crouches in the far corner of a dark room and the moment she enters it, a bursting light blinds his eyes, throws kaleidoscope colors in the inner of his eyelids. He shields his eyes with the back of his hand and the moment his vision finally clears he can see her naked body, peaked young breasts which look far too inviting with pinkish skin and cherry-blossom nipples.

"Tom", her voice thunders through the nothingness, echoes in the back of his mind and he creeps to his legs, cringes and grovels to her feet while she kneels right beside him, whispers, "You're born for this."

This time he won't disappoint her.

**ii.**

He doesn't know how long it lasts, how long he waits but suddenly he breathes, deep and rich and the scent of moss and stone lingers in his nose, in the inside of his nostrils and he coughs, tastes blood on his tongue, tastes sulfur in the back of his mouth. His eyes dart around like a hunted animal, a wounded stag and he's not sure he's real at all so he digs his toes in the softened soil, feels magic crawling towards him and he stops, listens, watches, waits. A man crouches on his feet, half-rat, half-human and it disgusts him how weak people are, how shallow - he kicks him off.

He finds his wand automatically, like a lock needs a key and the wood rests easy in his palm almost as a second hand. Breathing is hard, breathing is death but breathing is life nevertheless and he coughs once more, feels the bones shift in his composure and when he turns around to have a look at Potter - the despicable brat who dares to limit him once more - he catches a glimpse of his face in the shining surface of the golden cup which lays at his feet.

He screams.

**iii.**

The sky burns in a deep and dusky red, swallowed by little fragments of yellow and orange - he thinks he can see the first star already, bright as daylight while his heartbeat pumps heavy inside his head, reminds him of an incessant rhythm.

He's alone in the old muggle mansion of his fathers and the room lies in shards and rubble at his feet when she appears out of thin air coalesced with obscurity and shade. She wears a white chiffon blouse in a high-waist pants, a black velvet jacket with golden buttons in skull shape and she looks far too overdressed, far too much as if she's ready for war and Tom retaliates, throws shards of broken glass at her with a wink of his wand. He wants to cut her, wants to hurt her, make her bleed for God's sake but she merely whips her hand and the mirror sets itself back to one piece. Red eyes watch in horror as the monster stares right back at him again, bald, ashen, sick, cruel and he snaps, spits at her, "Why?"

Red sunlight catches in her brown locks, makes her fiery mane look like a forest fire, wild and untamed and she smiles, dark and secret, "You're born for this, Tom."

**iv.**

A dashing red light of energy clashes with his green curse and he absorbs everything, swallows Dumbledore's curse down his throat, raw and crude until he spits it back up again, spews flames between his thin ashen lips which transform in a giant basilisk as soon as it leaves his mouth.

He laughs as the ministry crumbles and bursts while Dumbledore desperately tries to shield his foster-son, the brat with the scar, and he wonders if that's what she meant, if that's what he's born for.

The snake lunges out once more.

**v.**

He returns to Riddle manor in the depth of the night, hidden from prying eyes with no followers around and stares at his reflection in the mirror. He tries transformation charm after charm, potion after potion but the spells die on his lips when he spots red eyes and a bald head.

He bursts the mirror in thousand shares.

_(she puts it back together long after he has gone)_

**vi.**

Dumbledore dies and the people cheer.

_(the people always cheer)_

The throne is prepared for him to take it, Hogwarts lies in the dark with blood running in the corridors, crowds singing and chanting while he takes the crown, crowns himself with Dumbledore's wand and he sinks into his office chair, watches the wind shift. Hogwarts always smells of smoke and parchment, of ink and old memories and now it smells like it's going to burn.

The people cheer for blood.

_(they always do)_

What else would they scream for?

**vii.**

She's standing near the balustrade and the thin fabric of her dark robe is translucent under the light that the moon casts upon her chest. He watches the way she breathes, observes her breast fill up and down again and he wonders how she tastes, what the layers of her skin are made of.

"When?", he asks and rests beside her and they continue to stare in the dark forests that shows through huge windows opposite of them. Silence rests over them and Tom is impatient, presses his lips into a thin line, feels his nostrils flitter with each breathe and he waits, buries his fingertips in the wood of the banister until pain flares up under his nail bed.

"When?", he presses out once more as soon as she turns around to leave and her steps echo like thunder in his head, like a countdown to his failure again.

She stops, throws a glance over her shoulder and he wants to kiss her badly, wants to ravish her mouth with his own.

"Soon."

She leaves in thin air.

**viii.**

The story is simple.

And it ends like this.

**ix.**

Dumbledore's throne is nothing more than a chair, dead and cold and Tom wipes his hands in Harry Potter's blood, smears himself with it up to the elbows until he's dripping, leaves behind bloodstains on fallen leaves, draws two straight lines along his cheeks.

This is war.

He's born for this.

**x.**

He's born for this.

**xi.**

Harry Potter rises once more and he falls, deeper, deeper…

**xii.**

He's covered in dirt with soil under his nail beds, crouches in the far corner of a dark room and the moment she enters it, a bursting light blinds his eyes, throws kaleidoscope colors in the inner of his eyelids. He shields his eyes with the back of his hand and the moment his vision finally clears he can see her naked body, peaked young breasts which look far too inviting with pinkish skin and cherry-blossom nipples.

"Tom", her voice thunders through the nothingness, echoes in the back of his mind and he shakes, sighs, _not again, not again_ while her heartbeat drums through his own head, keeps him alive and she approaches him, crouches down beside him. She takes his hands in hers and they're warm, they're frozen and she burns, her wild brown hair a forest fire when she leans down, kisses him on chapped lips. There's a voice inside his head, something lethal and cruel and he opens his eyes while the words burn into his mind, "You are born for this."

The sky burns in a deep and dusky red, swallowed by little fragments of yellow and orange - he thinks he can see the first star already, bright as daylight.

_(you are born for this)_

**xiii.**

The story is simple

But here is what they do not tell you about Death.

When Death says '_You_'_re born for this_', she clearly means '_You_'_ll die for this._'


End file.
